Dude, where's my car?

For the four years I lived in London, 99% of my friends didn’t have a car. After selling my car for $150 before I moved there, I really missed having one, no matter how old or beat up. It had been 12 solid years of car ownership for me and so suddenly realising I had to rely on others for 4 wheels (other than PT) was a rude shock. The wife and I realised the only solution was a dude with wheels. And the search began. Like freakin’ the Scarlet Pimpernel I searched high and low over London yet never found one that fitted my two requirements: worthy of a fling and/or boyfriend material + had 4 wheels at his disposal. Depressing indeed.

Since the beginning of this year, I began to experience intense car envy. I realised like a man who could chop wood, I needed one in my life. But as a freelancer, a car was nothing but a dream. So since I started my new job and after getting a regular pay cheque, things started to fall into place, then the bike smash happened and it all become crystal clear. I was ready to commit again. As I hobbled around my new flat feeling awful proclaiming I was retiring from cycling forevermore, serendipitously my brother mentioned that one of his friends was selling. And then I met Duckie.

She’s not my dream car (a Valiant Charger) but she's a 1983 Toyota somethin’ somethin’ with 4 wheels and a hatchback. I picked her up this afternoon and her maiden voyage was to go straight to Vic Markets to spend $30 on cheese and buy biodynamic fruit, vege and a healthy looking steak. Increds. I’ve named her Duckie because that’s what one of my grandmothers, Elsie Ida, (RIP) used to call her grandkids. Such a lovely term of endearment.

So now I feel like I’ve entered into another stage of commitment with Melbs and it should feel scary but it actually feels right. Full-time job. Master’s. Solo flat. Car. Something tells me I’m growing up. Surely this isn't happening.